


003

by Tigroou



Series: Numbers, and everything [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (certainly not me), (in the last chapters mind you), Because there is nothing to regret, Gen, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It Gets Worse, Let's try to have some fun :DDDDD, Like I'm posting this reaaally quickly before it comes out, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Beta Read, Not Stranger Things season 3 compliant, Other special kids may be mentioned, Pre-Stranger Things, The Author Regrets Nothing, it doesn't get better, who knows ?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:09:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigroou/pseuds/Tigroou
Summary: He is five, maybe six, when the men come.Or, the story of one of the other numbers, before Eleven, before the Upside-Down — and before everything else.





	1. Five (or is it six ?)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, here is a story I wrote at one a.m :D it may be full of completely false sentences, because :  
> \- I was very tired  
> \- I am a french teenager still in high school and my english is pretty horrible  
> I'm trying to post everything before season 3 but uh, since it will be part of a *look at AO3 menu* serie ??? I guess ??? it's definitely going to be canon divergent ᕕ༼⌐■-■༽ᕗ
> 
> Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this... thing... and if something doesn't make sense at all please come and yell at me in the comments ! ( ᐛ )و

He is five, maybe six — the point is that he doesn’t remember — when the men come. His orphanage is pretty normal, one would say, but he is not sure _he_ is. Normal, that’s it. Because sometimes, he can make things float — and it’s for a short time, really, but when one of the kid saw it one day, he screamed. Other kids don’t make things float. Other kids don’t have blood tears when they make things float. Other kids are joyful, eager to please whoever comes in, asking for attention and love and God knows what. 

He thinks he may be a little broken, because he doesn’t want to be noticed, he doesn’t want to be held by hands and covered in wet kisses and having his hair ruffled. At least he can make things float — and doesn’t that make him weirder, maybe, but even so he scores points where he can.

The current point is : he is five, maybe six, when the men come.

They are three, black suit and black sunglasses, even indoors. He thinks they look ridiculous, but he doesn’t dare to say it outloud. He looks at them, hidden behind a wall in his crappy clothes, and one of the eldest child sees him and spits :

"They came for _you_ , you freak."

They, in fact, came for him. It’s not one of the black suit guys who approach him, but an older one. He sits on the floor, in front of him, with a grin on his lips. He is badly shaven, his hair is brown mixed with grey here and there. When he adjusts his glasses, they immediately fall off his nose.

Tentatively, he smiles. The other man extends a hand. He takes it, two seconds, before withdrawing his.

“Hey,“ the man says, then falls silent. He is looking at him, still smiling but also analyzing. “What’s your name ?“

He stays silent. He stares. One day, one adult — it was a woman with red hair, tall tall _tall_ — she had complained. He never answered any of her questions, she had said. He is always staring at me. He has disturbing eyes. They are weird. Too blue, too deep ; and when he looks at them, they are hidden between his ash-blond bangs, making them hard to see. 

“My name,“ the man continues when he keeps staring at him, “is Emilio. Emilio Orlandi. It’s nice to meet you.“

Somehow, he doubts it. Even when he was five years old, he knew he was different from the other kids. The other kids are nice to met. They are fun to encounter. Him, he is just a presence people have to bear with while they are here.

But the man doesn’t make any comments, prefers to look around him.

“It’s a nice place, too. You’re living here ?“

It’s not a nice place. The orphanage is crowded with children, three men in black suits and two anxious adults who look at them as if they were an experiment. Or a wild animal waiting to attack, who knows ?

It’s not a nice place because yesterday, without him knowing, he broke a bulb : it’s not working since then and they don’t have enough light when they want to read during the evening. 

So he shrugs. It’s not a nice place, but maybe E... Emilio ? finds it cool.

“I heard things about you.“

He startles at that. The tone is suddenly more intimate. Emilio bends over him, trying to keep the conversation private. Between the wailing of a baby and Anthea’s screams, one of the little girl, he doesn’t doubt Emilio is succeeding.

“I heard you could make things float. Is it true ? Just nod if you don’t want to talk.“

Suddenly anxious, he throws a look around him. But nobody seems to listen to them, so he nods slowly. In front of him, Emilio huffs, apparently... happy ?

“Just that ? Floating ? Not any other tricks ?“

He hesitates. Opens his mouth, then closes it, before finally mustering some strength and muttering :

“I broke a bulb.“

“ A bulb ? How ?“

He shrugs. If only he knew how ; but even that is a mystery to him. If he knew how, he would know how _not_ to break things. 

If only.

One hand lands on his shoulder, startling him. Emilio removes it with an apologetic smile.

“I am a specialist in making things float and... break, you know.“

He opens his eyes wide. Without realising it, his hands grab his t-shirt.

“Yeah, really ! It’s not a joke !“ Emilio adds when he doesn’t stop staring with disbelief. “I am not very good, mind you, but still a specialist.“

Emilio leans closer to him and mutters :

“You’re not alone. You’re the third we found with this kind of... special abilities.“

“Really ?“

It’s not excitement he feels. Excitement is different in a way he can’t explain. No, he rather feels... curiosity. Curiosity mixed with joy, joy of not being alone ; and he thinks he isn’t the only weird kid anymore. 

“What do you think ? Would you like to meet them ?“

He nods frantically. Emilio stands up but seems to think of something and adds :

“It will take a while, you know. You will have to learn how _not_ breaking bulbs and... you know.“

Emilio waves his hand and offers a small smile. He shakes his head.

He doesn’t care. He wants to meet them.

“I want to come,“ he says, and suddenly for the first time he means it. 

Emilio extends his hand. Let it fall in front of him, giving him the choice.

He takes it.


	2. ???

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lives in a 'castle', except he can't get out

He lives in a ‘castle’, except he can’t get out. He stays in his room — his _silent_ room — and he is alone in the mornings when he wakes up, and the evenings when he falls asleep.

After the daily ruckus of the orphanage, silence is a peace he never thought he could find. 

Emilio comes everyday. They talk, or they draw or write or read ; sometimes, they do everything. He likes Emilio : he always has a smile on his face, his glasses slipping, his brown and grey hair. His very _soft_ hair. The man’s company is very welcome, also because he is intelligent in a way others aren’t. And very calm and patient.

One day, he tries something. In the peace of the room, he says quietly :

“Dad.“

Emilio makes a humming noise, then seems to realise what he said, what he reacted to, and he turns his head quickly, seemingly in shock. 

“Dad,“ he says again, and now he is rather smug, because he makes Emilio reacts in a new way he didn’t before. The word is foreign on his tongue — he never had the chance to call someone his dad, only knows the word from the books he would read at the orphanage. It’s foreign but it’s good  —  but Emilio shakes his head and asks him, softly, to not call him that. 

Of course, the other times are just slips, he swears.

 

Every days, men in uniform come into his room. Emilio interrupts whatever he is doing and takes him by the hand. He takes a shower — sometimes cold, sometimes hot — and the rest of the day is spent training. Usually a single room, but some days he changes, switches places. There is a glass where he can see himself in on his right ; in front of him, a table with things on it. They ask him — a voice comes from the ceiling, and the first time he heard it he hid under the chair — different things. Lift the can. Crush it. Throw it. Pick it up. Restore it. Do everything again. And again. And again. The training is monotonous ; he is almost bored, he does everything by rote until they are finally satisfied, and there can begin the painful part of the training. The table is pushed against the wall and Mr Powell comes in. 

Mr Powell is a muscular man. He doesn’t like him, and the feeling is mutual, he can say. He can say because of the way Mr Powell looks at him, disdainful, full of contempt. Mr Powell doesn’t look young, but he doesn’t look old either : he seems ageless, strangely. His t-shirt reveals his arms, covered in tattos, while his legs are covered with green-gray trousers and big boots. Mr Powell is a general : he says it while lifting his chin, apparently proud. He doesn’t know what a general is but he can affirm one thing : it’s certainly not good for his ribs. Mr Powell trains him how to fight with his bare hands, ‘‘like a man !’’ as he loves to scream when he charges toward him like a crazy bull. He is lucky if he can manage to hit Mr Powell : he has tiny hands, he weights nothing and the man always touches him, no matter how much he runs. He doesn’t try to use his ‘special abilities’. He did, one day, and Mr Powell ended in the wall. _Literally_ in the wall, and when it happened he has been surrounded by men with black uniforms and what looked like weapons pointed toward... him ?

Then he doesn’t try again, and Mr Powell hates him even more. But that’s okay, he thinks. As long as he have Emilio, he is okay. He didn’t break a bulb since a lot of time, just as Emilio said. Besides, he can’t fail here, no matter where ‘‘here’’ is. He has to encounter the others. The others with special abilities.

 

On his wrist, the numbers ‘‘003’’ never disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still have no idea where I'm going *insert everything is fine meme*


	3. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He meets 001 when he is eight.

He meets 001 when he is eight — not that he knows his age, because he didn’t keep count of the days since the orphanage. It’s been a while since he saw the sun, too — but it’s not the subject today.

001 is a girl. She is older and she reminds him of Mr Powell, which isn’t a good thing. He pronounces her name slowly, saying ‘‘ _Zero-zero-one_ ’’, tasting the words on his tongue. It’s too long, he decides, and prefers to adress her as ‘‘ _Zero-one’’._ At this point of his life, he has trouble speaking normally : he stammers in front of strangers, and if Zero-One’s eyebrows are any indication, she isn’t impressed by him, not even a bit.

Zero-One can make explosions : compared to him, it’s impressive, if only it wasn’t so scary. People in white coats put them in a big room ; he sees Emilio, whose face is torsed with worry. When he sees that, he suddenly feels something cold at the back of his neck.

Then the world around him explodes, and his ears ring and ring and ring, and he can’t see anything but brightness.

They are supposed to fight, he understands, but he finds himself frightened by the person in front of him.

Zero-One is raw power. She is made of it. Her body stands unmoving in the hell of the room. She looks at him and she sets explosions at the same time, ignoring her dripping nose, the force of the blasts. Her black hair seems to dance in the wind they provoke. She is calm — not like Mr Powell — but when she sets her eyes on him, he sees what she thinks of him : disdain, disinterest, he is a waste of time —  _thinking_ like Mr Powell, finally. He should hate her, maybe, but he is too afraid for that. He doesn’t fear Mr Powell, but Zero-One leaves him shaking in his shoes, breath taken away. This is someone so powerful she could blow up the building and she would _not care_. She would not care because nobody can stop her, and she knows it and yet she doesn’t do it. 

“Useless,“ she suddenly sneers. He doesn’t know how he can make out the word in this hell, but somehow it’s her and him only, the other sounds forgotten.

“You’re like Zero-zero-two. You’re useless.“

She says it without heat, statuating the truth. He can’t draw his eyes away as she makes her way toward him, steady steps after steady steps. She is beautiful — she looks like an avenging angel coming to kill him.

He barely startles when she touches his cheek. Her hand is cold. The gesture isn’t tender. She scoops his face, looks at him in the eyes, not smiling, just — assessing. Whatever she sees, it disappoints her, he can tell, because she takes three steps back — and now he notices he is on his knees, as if he was praying for his life. She looks down on him ; a god before a man

“Maybe you should give up your pathetic life.“

When Emilio steps in the room, he doesn’t realize he is crying. Why, is a question left unanswered.


	4. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You could name me,“ he proposes.
> 
> Emilio, who began to sit on the floor, raises his head so quickly he thinks he can hear a bone cracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone ask for *waves hand* BAD ENGLISH ? No ?  
> Well, here you go anyway

He meets 002 one year later, because he refuses to face any other child with ‘special abilities’. His encounter with Zero-One left him traumatised, Emilio says. He needs time. And time they give him. A lot of it, even. For a while, he doesn’t see Mr Powell but rather spends his days in his room with Emilio. He never really spoke Before ; now it’s worse and the only words Emilio can get out of him are ‘Yes’, ‘No’ and ‘Dad’. They try to cheer him up by showing him movies, one day. The sound of an explosion leaves him panting and crying, and he never sees any film again. 

One day, he is alone in his room — “I still have work to do,“ Emilio said to him, “and this week is really bad for my timetable“ — when the door opens, just a little. He perks up, interrupting his reading — he is becoming good at it — and sees...

A boy.

No, not a boy. More like a teenager, just like Zero-One was a teenager too. A smiling teenager. A foreign smiling teenager, who looks at him and waves as if his presence in this chamber was absolutely normal.

“Dude, is it _grey_ here. Aren’t you bored ?“

He is left dumbfounded. The other has an accent he can’t place. He barely pronouces his ‘r’ ; the only english he is hearing is the one Emilio and Mr Powell speak (and Zero-One, too, but he prefers to not think about it) and this new way of talking leaves him curious and speechless in the same time. 

Ignoring his silence, the other just looks around him, hands in the pockets of his trouser, before finally directing his attention on him again.

“What’s your name ?“

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Then shows his arm, the ‘003’ written on it. The other literally _beams_.

“Awesome ! You’re like, my little brother !“ 

The other shows his wrist, too. On it, he can see the numbers ‘002’, black on the tanned skin. For a moment, he looks at their two arms. His is white, as white as fresh snow barely touched, while the other —  _002_ , his mind supplies — looks like a sun ; in his appearance and in his attitude. Suddenly, he feels himself plain, uninteresting ; and in his mind, Zero-One’s voice resounds, _Maybe you should give up your pathetic life_ , and he quickly withdraws his arm, hides his wrist with his sleeve.

“Nah,“ 002 suddently says, apparently thinking. “I can’t be your brother, because then it would mean One is our _sister_ — oh boy you wouldn’t like that.“

002 takes a look at his face and seems to read everything he needs because he winces.

“Yeah, she’s pretty... _intense_.“

Intense doesn’t cover it, he thinks, and he says so :

“I thou—thought she was going to k— _kill_ me.“

“Seriously ? She did the explosions trick ?“

He frowns. In his mind, ‘trick’ makes him sounds like he is an idiot — a point Zero-One clearly established when she left him crying on the floor — and if he doesn’t like one thing, it’s passing for an idiot. But 002 waves and just like that, his tensed shoulders relax and he breathes again.

“You _can’t_ be named ‘Zero-zero-three’, though,“ the other continues as if there hasn’t been a tense silence two seconds before.

“W—Why n—not ?“

“‘Why not’ ? C’mon man ! It’s so... ! So... !“

002 visibly struggles before shrugging, giving up.

“... Wait,“ he realizes. “How have you been calling me in your mind all this time ?“

He says the words in his stammering speech. ‘Zero-zero-two’ : it’s still too long but only Zero-One can be called like that. Her ‘Zero’ sounds like a polite formula, ‘One’ her name. Just like Mr Powell will never be ‘Powell’ alone, removing the ‘Zero’ seems insulting.

“At least call me _Two_ , if you want to insult me. It was a joke !“ Two adds in front of his panicked face. “ _Jesus_ , it was a _joke_ ! How long has it been since you talked to someone ?“

“I tal—talked to Emilio yes— _yesterday_.“

A second.

Then Two’s face suddenly cracks and he erupts in laughs. It’s a loud sound, echoing on the wall, filling the room until he can’t hear anything else but that. He finds himself smiling in front of this happy image : it’s been a while since he heard a laugh that powerful. He doesn’t know if Emilio can laugh. He doesn’t know if _he_ can laugh, but the boy in front of him can and do. He seems like the happiest person in the world : just him, a boy with brown curly hair, brown eyes and freckles, with ‘002’ tattoed on his wrist, laughing not _at_ him but _because_ of him.

“Your _face_ , man !“ Two exclaims when he is calmer. “It was priceless ! You were just...“

Two makes something with his mouth, setting it into a hard line, before it breaks again into a playful smirk.

“Anyway. Back on track. I will _not_ call you Zero-zero-zero-zero-three again, seriously, it’s way too long.“

“The—there are t—two zeros too ma—many.“

“Pffffr, who cares.“

Nobody, is the answer, and he is ready to open his mouth to reply when a head pokes into the room. In a flash, he recognizes Emilio, his expression slightly taken aback when he sees who is in the room.

“Two ? What are you doing here ?“

Two’s smile suddenly seems sharper, and when he replies his voice is still teasing but also has a dangerous undertone :

“I already told you guys. The name is Quentin, not Two.“

Emilio just shrugs, apologetic.

“I don’t set the rules, kid.“

“No. You don’t.“

He feels like he is been forgotten in the tense silence filling the piece. Emilio and Two — Quentin ? — look at each other like two cats waiting to fight, and he stays on the side and watches, holding his breath a little. He remembers Zero-One’s special abilities ; he remembers his own, Mr Powell flying into the wall, and he gets himself ready. He likes Two/Quentin but ten nice minutes aren’t going to make him drop Emilio. And between Two and Emilio, the first one is clearly more dangerous, or so he thinks.

But Two drops his gaze and lets it wander a last time around him. His hands are back in his pockets : like that, he looks like he is the owner of the place.

“Whatever,“ he says. “I’ve got things to do. See ya, Three.“

Five seconds later and he can hear his footsteps in the corridor. Emilio, who moved to let him pass, waits a little before closing the door. As soon as he does so, he can feel the tension passes and Emilio doesn’t waste his time, almost throwing himself at him. His hands wander around his body without touching it, frantically.

“Are you okay ?! Did he do anything ?!“

“No ?“

“Why is it a question ?!“

“I—I don’t know !“

Emilio stops two seconds then restarts, calmer :

“Okay. Okay. Did he touch you ?“

He tries to remember but comes with nothing. 

“No. No he didn’t.“

Emilio huffs and lets his hands come to his sides. He looks at them, at his fingers ; and he isn’t surprised when he sees them shaking, just a little.

“Why—“ he starts, then interrupts himself. Swallows then begins again :

“Why can’t he touch me ?“

Emilio’s glasses slip. He raises them up with a shaky finger, notices it’s his middle one and stops mid-motion.

“He... It’s complicated.“

“I’m very smart,“ he supplies, a faint smile on his lips.

“Yeah, you are. Yeah. Okay. So. Two’s powers... Special abilities, if you prefer. They activate when he touches you... It’s _complicated_ , as I said, we still don’t know if it’s _the_ future or just a vision of what it could be...“

Then Emilio catches himself and offers him a small smile.

“I’m rambling, sorry. The point is, it’s not very pleasant to endure these... _images_. I would prefer if you don’t come into contact with him again but—“

“I like him.“

This gains him an incredulous stare. 

“He—he is nice !“ Then, quieter, he adds : “Nicer than Zero-One.“

Emilio’s gaze softens. 

“You will not see One again. Not now, anyway.“

He thinks he should be worried about the fact that yes, he is going to encounter Zero-One again, but the promise that it’s not _now_ nor in the near future reassures him a little bit. This is a worry for ‘Future Three’, just like Emilio says sometimes.

A question burns his lips, though, and he can’t keep it in longer, blurting out :

“Do I have a name ?“

“Where does that come from ? Of course you have a name. Everybody has a name.“

“An another name. Not _Three_. An another one.“

Emilio barely hesitates before answering :

“You had one, back at the orphanage. Don’t you remember ?“

“No.“

“It’s... a problem.“

“You don’t remember it ?“

“I was occupied talking to you. I’m sorry, Three. If you want, I could try to ask around me...“

Again, he shakes his head. Being called ‘Three’ is normal for him. An another name would be weird and besides, who would call him like that ? His only company is Emilio and Emilio calls him ‘Three’.

But.

But he thinks of the way Two said _The name is Quentin_ , the fierce voice, and he can’t help but feel envious. How does that make you feel, to have something to protect ? Even if it’s just a word. His person, his body, they don’t count. He always had them, since the day he was born. They are his without earning them. And, he thinks, he really wants to earn a name. To work so hard we will call him another name than a number.

“You could name me,“ he proposes.

Emilio, who began to sit on the floor, raises his head so quickly he thinks he can hear a bone cracks.

“What.“

“No—Not _now_. When I — When I will be _enough_...“

He struggles to explain his way of thinking. It made sense to him, but would it to Emilio ? He isn’t so sure. Emilio is a doctor, which means he is rationnal. But his brain doesn’t work like Emilio’s.

“Usually,“ Emilio begins carefully, “Your name is given by one of your parents.“

“You’re my dad, then.“

The older man sighs, looking suddenly tired.

“I’m not... I already told you not to call me that.“

“Yes, you did, but in my head it’s _Emilio Emilio Emilio Emilio_ and it’s... It’s _tiring_. I— I want to call you Emilio and I want to call you Dad, and switch when _I_ want, and I _want_ a name because Two seemed to like _his_ so _please_ —“

Emilio raises his hands, trying to stop the flow of words and slowly, his litany of _please_ dies in his throat until he is silent.

“Let’s have a deal,“ Emilio suggests and, like this day years and years ago, leans over him and mutters : “I will give you a name. A nice one. One day, I’m going to come into your room and tell you ‘This is your name’, and you will have to accept it. Not today, though. I need time to think about it.“

“It’s not a deal. I don’t gain _anything_.“

“Learn patience, you brat,“ Emilio whispers, apparently for himself, then adds “Okay, you can call me ‘Dad’ in your head and everybody will be happy but never. Ever. Call me Dad here or outside. Not for now. Understood ?“

Emilio offers his hand, lets it hang between them. He looks at it slowly. The fingers don’t shake anymore, just wait until he makes his decision. Giving him the choice.

Again, he takes it.


	5. ???

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emilio comes into his room, one night, and he looks crazy.

Emilio comes into his room, one night, and he looks crazy. It’s the only word he can think of, as his ‘father’ barges in with wide eyes and ruffled hair as if he is pursued by a killer. He blinks, stirred awake by the man’s fumblings and mumblings, propels himself on one elbow. His voice is shaking with sleep when he mutters :

“Dad, what—?“

Immediately, Emilio’s finger covers his lips, making him stop his question.

“No,“ his ‘father’ says in an urgent whisper, “No, not here, Three, I already told you, I _told_ you _before_ —“

As the man rambles and rambles, he tries to hide himself with his sheet, a bit scared by Emilio’s behaviour. He never saw the man like that before : Emilio is _always_ composed, his stare cool and aloof, a lazy smile tucked on his lips. 

_Not tonight_.

Tonight he is crazy and for the first time he is _afraid_ of him because he _doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t—_

“Shit,“ Emilio swears suddenly before crouching in front of the bed. “Shit, Three, I’m sorry, I’m so _sorry_ — Come here.“

When he sees him hesitating, Emilio repeats himself until he finally decides to approach the other’s broad chest. Emilio gives him a fierce hug, the first he even gave him actually. He repeats his apologies quietly until they don’t make sense anymore and he looks at the wall in front of him, his arms wrapped around Emilio, trying to get a hold of him. Even if the other didn’t say a rationnal word to him since he entered into his room, he can sense the urgency into his actions, his words, his whole self. 

When Emilio draws back, he can see his red eyes, as if he tries very _very_ hard to not cry in front of him. His smile is wobbly, too. Emilio holds him by the shoulders, looks at him then finally sighs and stands up. He follows his movements silently, a question on his lips but not daring to ask _what is going on_.

“I will come back, Three,“ Emilio states. “I promise you, I will come back. Soon. Very soon.“

Before he is fully out of the room, however, Emilio withdraws and adds in a rush :

“Your name is Eli. Don’t forget it. Eli.“

And he is gone, the door locking behind him without letting him time to run to him. He is still with shock, only thinking about what he has just heard.

Eli.

His name is Eli

and Emilio is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea what i'm doing


	6. ???

Mr Powell is here when he wakes up and he seems very _very_ angry. He tries to fake sleeping ; but then, Mr Powell cruel voice rings out in the room :

“I know you’re awake, boy.“

He pokes an eye above his blanket. Mr Powell stands up from the chair he was sitting on and, in a sharp movement, has the blanket removed. He can feel cold hitting his skin where his gown can’t cover it and he whimpers, hugging himself as much as he can. Normally, Mr Powell is _always_ accompanied with someone (a man in a suit, a man in black, a man in white — the point is, _always accompanied_ ) when he comes to see him. But here he isn’t. He is alone with him and alone, the man is more threatening than Zero-One standing in her room.

“Now, boy,“ Mr Powell continues, his jaw square and his eyes screaming fury, “You and I, we’re going to have a little _friendly_ talk.“


	7. ???

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At this point, the days blur together until they don't make sense anymore.

He _may_ be ten, or eleven — at this point, the days blur together until they don’t make sense anymore. His world doesn’t make sense anymore, if that’s matter, not that it made a lot Before.

Before is Emilio and him not knowing his name and living perfectly happy together with a few interruptions here and there. After is now and Mr Powell and Zero-One, and if he knew learning his name would cost him Before, he would have been less curious. He would have shut his mouth and not asked anything and everything would be fine and nice and here, happy ending. It’s a shame he doesn’t know how to go back in the past (he doesn’t have this special ability — again, _shame_ ).

For a moment — a short, stupid moment — he hates Two (or is it Quentin ? Who knows) because it’s him who put this idea in his head. This idea of name, of asking what it is, who he is. But as soon as the though touches his mind, he chases it away. It’s not _Two_ ’s fault. He met him once. He met him once one month ago and he never saw him again. Two just said things ; and _he_ decided to listen to them and to ask. If there is one idiot, it is him, not Two.

Two is fun. Two is nice and called him ‘brother’ even if it was the first time they met. He is generous, in a way, but he also remembers how Two looked at Emilio, the way he talked to him. It wasn’t pleasant. There was hate in it ; there was history. Is it linked to Emilio’s flee ?

Even if it isn’t, he begins to learn this _history_ , and he doesn’t like it.

 

His training goes to Mr Powell. Because he can read and write, a man in white has decided it was enough, has decided he was ready for the “other things“. It was faint, enough for him to not understand clearly what it meant. Even if he begins to get it. Unfortunaly.

 

“We repeated it five times already, son,“ Mr Powell complains in front of him, his grey tank top showing his arms and tattoos. 

He doesn’t answer, prefering to catch his breath, or at least _trying to_. He doesn’t succeed and he can hear Zero-One’s short snort, who is sitting on a chair nearby. He turns his head sharply toward her and manages to ask after a few false starts :

“W— _What_?“

His voice must have betrayed his anger, for she rises her eyebrows, clearly not impressed by his stammering, before setting a tiny explosion in the palm of her hand. Her nose doesn’t even bleed. Nonetheless, he flinches and prefers to look at Mr Powell again — an error. The military man’s expression matches Zero-One’s one, if even more disdainful. He feels like scum under their stares — they probably think he _is_ , and he would have trouble to prove them wrong. With shaky limbs, he gets up slowly and raises his arms in a masquerade of defense. Immediately, Mr Powell is on him and kicks his ankles, not enough to make him fall but enough to make him stumble.

“Keep your balance !“ Mr Powell barks in his ear. “Don’t raise your arms ! Be careful with your legs or you will fall at the first blow !“

And he pushes him. It’s a miracle he manages to stay upright, but he fumbles nevertheless. 

“What are you made of, son ?! Zero-One got it the first time and she was _nine_!“

He can feel spittle falling on his skin and has to hold back a gesture of his arm to remove it. He grits his teeth and looks in front of him. Tries to override Mr Powell’s and Zero-One’s presence.

Fails completely when the teenager sets an explosion in front of him, _again_ , making his breath catches in his throat. He will never get used to it, he feels it in him, but if only he could refrain himself from reacting, his life would be _marvellous_.

“Cut down the blast, girl,“ Mr Powell shouts in the direction of Zero-One. 

He is sure the only reason she is not killing him is because she actually _likes_ the man, or at least tolerates him. They are alike, not physically but mentally, and he can already tell what will be Zero-One’s future. She will be of the ones who build the world, in a very Mr Powell’s way. They are cut in the same garment, and it’s a dangerous one. 

In front of them, he is out of the picture. His future is definitely less sure.

“He wasn’t listening,“ Zero-One says in a bored voice. Her legs swing in air despite the fact that they can touch the ground if she wanted them to. He doesn’t know why she is here. Her only use is to remind him of her presence every ten minutes, and to snort when he fails Mr Powell’s exercise.

“I don’t care if he was listening or not,“ Mr Powell says to Zero-One, his attention fully on her. “You _obey_ and you _stop_.“

His eyes come back on him and he feels himself shrink under the gaze.

“And if _you_ stop listening, you will be in so much shit you will never get out of here. Understood, son ?“

“I’m n—not your _s—son_ ,“ he spits.

Mr Powell sweeps his legs off, making him fall on his butt.

“Thanks God for that,“ the military man answers. “Now stand up and do as you’re told. Maybe one day we will make a man out of you.“


	8. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He encounters the monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad english ? *yaaaaaay*

It’s in March (but which year, good question) that he encounters the monster. He doesn’t see him in his bedroom or in the laboratory itself, but the point is the same : he encounters a monster, one he thought only existed in his dreams.

It’s always Mr Powell who comes to wake him up, now, but this day they don’t go to the same room but in another one, with a lot of people, all in white coats and a... vertical _tub_ ?

He eyes the thing standing there. It _is_ a tub, filled with what looks like water, and he isn’t reassured at all.

“Here, kid,“ one of the man says, giving him an underwear. 

He looks at it, a bit lost. The other rolls his eyes, apparently impatient.

“You put this on and you take your gown off. Easy.“

“You would be surprised,“ Mr Powell tells from across the room. “All the easy things he can’t do.“

Some laugh. Some don’t care. He feels his cheeks go red but proceeds to do just that. Putting the underwear on, taking the gown off. In the end, he feels naked, his slim body under their eyes.

“You should be more careful, John,“ one with white hair and a tiny mustache says critically to Mr Powell. “Look at him. I could snap him in half if I wanted to.“

“Aye, you could,“ Mr Powell answers easily, not caring. 

White Hair turns around sharply, pining the military man under his gaze. He doesn’t dare to breath as the room goes silent except for the two men.

“It’s a child, John. Now, I know you don’t care but the point is, _I do_. I don’t want to experiment on a battered puppet which can die if we’re not careful, I want to keep the kid alive.“

Slowly, Mr Powell takes one step, then another one, until his nose is barely two inches apart from White Hair’s.

“Don’t play the Orlandi card on me, Cochran. I train this boy. You _experiment_ on him. If he survives a hit or two, then I don’t see where is the problem. Do your things, I will do mine, and everybody will be happy.“

The tension doesn’t break, even when Mr Powell returns to his wall. His eyes fall on him. He shivers but he doesn’t know if it’s because of the cold or the hateful glare.

“Come here, Three,“ Cochran says reluctantly. 

After one last look to the military man, he finally rejoins Cochran, who puts something on his head : it looks like a fish tank, except he can’t see anything around him but in front of his eyes.

“Okay, kid, listen to me. Are you listening ?“

Cochran waits for him to nod before resuming :

“It’s easy. You go in that,“ and Cochran points something, maybe the vertical tub, “and it will be dark. It’s _normal_ , it’s part of the experiment. I want you to concentrate very hard, to not be scared, because what is going to happen is _normal_. Just, be attentive, remember what you see. Everything will be alright.“

Cochran pats the helmet on his head and motions for two of his colleagues to take him by the hand and to help him climb a ladder. When he can’t climb higher, he hesitates. The water is still, waiting for him to come in, but he doesn’t want to.

Generally, when someone tells him everything will be alright, it means everything will be awful. But every eyes are on him and he can’t escape : Mr Powell dares him to try. He can’t use his powers to make him go away like before. He can’t do _anything_ but what they ask him.

The water is cold, colder than any shower he has ever taken. He takes a big breath then in one jump, he is in. His breath catches in his throat. He wants to hug himself, except he can’t because there is no room in this tank for him to. His hand finds the glass ; it feels weak under his fingers but when he wants to hit it, his movements are slowed by the water surrounding him. _It’s the water_ , he thinks, _always the water_ , while the world begins to blur and to become black, as Cochran and Mr Powell and everybody begin to fade until there is him. Only him and the obscurity. Slowly, he closes his eyes.

It’s normal. Everything will be alright.

When he opens his eyes, the floor is black under his feet. He can _feel_ the floor.

“What—,“ he begins, but a growl interrupts him. It comes from behind him, deep and threatening. He freezes, not daring to move. If he stays still, he thinks, he can blend in the background, despite the fact that it is black and he is as white as snow. The floor is invisible, too much invisible, he is afraid he will lose himself if he isn’t careful enough. But when he shuts his eyes and opens them again, it doesn’t disappear.

Everything will be alright.

He feels more than he hears a step taken behind him, the vibration through the floor. _What does it mean ?!_ , Inner Mr Powell screams at him, and he answers _It means it’s heavy_. It growls again. _It’s heavy and it’s coming and it knows I am frightened_.

_Such a crybaby_ , Inner Zer-One sneers at him. _Maybe you should give up your pathetic life_.

Aye, maybe he should.

He takes a big breath. Everything will be alright, he tells himself. They will... wake him up, because it sounds like a nightmare, as the growls continues, as he feels it coming closer and closer. Big breath. It’s a nightmare. Nightmares aren’t real.

He turns around and he feels his mouth falls.

Its head looks like a flower with teeth. It has a man’s appearance, standing on two legs, two arms hanging at its sides, and it’s tall, taller than any man he has ever seen. It doesn’t look like it weights much but then, sensing his fear, maybe it decided it didn’t has to be discreet. When it sees (can it even _see_ ?) him looking at it, it hisses and growls, and suddenly it throws himself in his direction.

He screams in terror but days of training pushes him into action and he launches himself on the ground, dodging its attack.

“What the hell,“ he manages to say before the thing turns to face him, clearly angry at having missed. He is still on the floor. He doesn’t stand a chance against it : it’s quicker, deadlier; one bite from its mouth-flower could tear his flesh apart and eats him. He doesn’t like it but he doesn’t have the choice.

Him or it. Him or it.

He feels the habitual prickle in his fingers, behind his eyes. He pictures what he wants to do in his mind, imagines it as best as he can with a monster running toward him with a very clear killing intent; and, when it’s nearly here, he screams, raises his hand toward the beast and sends it flying away. It lands on the floor with a ‘Thud !’. Stirring; not dead, then, but right now he is panting, feeling blood flowing on his cheeks. Quickly, he springs on his feet and, stupidly he will admit much much later, begins to run.

“H— _Help !_ “

Wherever he runs, it’s only black. No Mr Powell, no Cochran, no _Emilio_. He suddenly misses Zero-One and her explosions.

“Mr Powell !“ he calls. “Mr Powell ! Help !“

But Mr Powell doesn’t come, and why would he ? Mr Powell hates him and he hates Mr Powell as well. The guy would let him die just for the pleasure of seeing him agonizing.

“Dad ! _Dad_!“ he screams then, despite knowing it’s ineffective, Emilio will not appear, and a sob travels through his body. Behind him, Flower-Monster is running ; he can feel the steps, can hear the hisses of rage, and before he can turn around again in an attempt to save himself, he senses teeth digging into his flesh, _hard_. Pain explodes in his leg and he screams in this cursed place, his yell resonating in it. Two hands seize him, claws scratching his back, and it’s turning him around; and suddenly his head is close to _its_ head, blood on its teeth, saliva everywhere. It hisses again, a low sound, and suddenly it seems to yell, maybe in victory. He can feel saliva falling on his cheek, his hair tangling into a mess of knot, but he is too frightened to even move. Also, he is trapped between its big hands.

They look at each other. He looks at the center of the head, the black pitch here. They don’t move. It seems to gauge him before strinking—

And suddenly he wakes up in a gasp. He barely registers where he is before throwing up.

“Jesus _Christ_ —“ someone swears but his vision is blurry in pain, his leg throbbing. He shudders, can feel hands on his shoulders. He tries to shake them away but doesn’t manage to and gives up trying, prefers to moan :

“My l—le—leg,“ he mutters. “ _My leg._ “

With difficulty, he turns his head to look at it, bracing himself for a pool of blood, some bones, a mess of gore. 

But there is nothing. It spasms every now and then but there is nothing, no damage, skin smooth and untouched, if not wet. 

“Wha—“ he begins, and doesn’t end his sentence before trying frantically to reach his leg with his hands. Except, no, there is nothing. No blood dripping on the floor, no open gash. Only remains the pain, nearly making him faint right here and now. 

Nobody speaks, though, and when he finally sees around him he begins to understand why. They didn’t put him out the tub; the glass is in a thousand pieces, with the water flooding the floor (the _white_ floor) around it. He is wet, even his blond ashen hair. And the piece is a mess: monitors are upside-down, all broken beyond reparation. If he squints enough, he could see a crack on the wall. Seeing the look everybody sends to him, there is no doubt left: he is the one who has done that.

He doesn’t know if he should be ashamed or proud, but decides to close his eyes, ignoring the small nudge a scientist gives him. Black claims him and he drowns into it.

He doesn’t see the monster again.


	9. Driving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He also teaches him how to drive.

He refuses to go in the tub again and knowing the state of the room when he left, the scientists decided it was best if, for one time, they _listened_ to him. First and last time, he understands, but apparently the machines he broke are expensive and they don’t want to dig a hole in their budget because of him. 

So instead, they (which means, Mr Powell and Zero-One) teach him how to fight without his powers. 

Mr Powell’s lessons become more straineous and he has to train more than ever before. Zero-One, even if she is bored by it, received orders: and so, she shows him how to shoot with a gun.

It’s something strange, to think you have multiple ways of killing someone, may it be natural or _less_ natural. When he is thirteen years old, not that he knows his age, he knows how to strangle someone with his bare hands _after_ making them unconscious. He knows how to fire a gun : it was shaky at first but the more he trained, the more he managed to hit the target, the less he shaked. Now, his movements are quick, flawless. Zero-One herself looks surprised by his skills but he thinks she would be more impressed if only she couldn’t make explosions by the sheer will of her mind. He still hates it when she sets one close to him but he learned better than to complain. 

He can also stand his ground against Mr Powell and was it a sweet victory than to hit him in the face, knowing he couldn’t be reprimanded because it was in the rules. Mr Powell had murder in his eyes and almost broke his arm after that but well. Small victories where he can find them, he guesses. 

He also teaches him how to drive and oh, isn’t it _funny._

 

—

 

“ _Jesus Christ_ —“

He says nothing but fights the smile which threatens to make its way on his lips. It’s not everyday Mr Powell looks on the verge of throwing up because of him. 

And his driving. 

“Stop driving so fast, god, you think you’re immune to freaking _accidents_ ?“

He turns the wheel violently to the left and feels the car following the movement. Beside him, Mr Powell’s grip on the handle strengthens. This time he couldn’t hold back his smirk as the man, muscular, taller than him by at least two heads, howled :

“ _Stop the car !_ “

He abruptly stops the car and Mr Powell gets out precipitaly. He doesn’t look but can hear the disgusting retching sound and vomit splashing on the ground. They are outside, on the parking lot of the building, at night. It’s empty, except them and maybe Zero-One if she didn’t go back inside, bored as always. They wanted to be sure he wasn’t going to kill Mr Powell and himself while driving but for now he doesn’t encounter any difficulties. It’s been a while since he has been outside, he muses out while Mr Powell is spitting his lungs on the floor. 

He would go outside, sometimes, when he was particularly good at something, or when someone suggested to give him some colour back on his cheeks. Compared to the scientists, he is as white as snow. They also vaccinated him against any existing disease, or so it seems. One of them explained why; because apparently the aseptic place in which he lives doesn’t give him the natural defenses, even against the most common illness. A flu could make him ill for one month, or so he has been told. He prefers not to take any chance, and them too: they gave him a black polar fleece and although he is sweating as if he were in Hell, it’s the first present they gave him since Emilio. Emilio would give him books to learn him how to read; since Emilio left, he grew territorial and almost attacked the poor girl who wanted to take them, stating that he was too old for pictures. He thinks this polar fleece will be the only thing he will wear in the near future, if not for his entire life (as long as it could be). Apparently, he will stay small all his life: Zero-One is already taller than him despite the fact that she ended growing up. He will maybe gain an inche or two and it will be all. It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would: he doesn’t like to attract attention, after all, and if he is tall he definitely will. Staying small, well; at least, it makes him fast and hard to catch.

Mr Powell gets in the passenger seat, his face white.

“Your car isn’t a fucking tank,“ he mutters but he doesn’t add anything else, and they resume his driving lesson.

 

—

 

They also decided that if he was rewarded for his good behaviour and accomplishments, he would stay in line and do as they said. They aren’t totally wrong: the two persons who can beat him and left him shaking only fear him when he is driving a car (Zero-One stayed, surprisingly, and said his driving was disastrous and without hope; he didn’t disagree). Rewards apparently rhyme with people: it explains why, one day, he found Two in his room.

He spent ten seconds staring at Two dumbly before the teenager-almost-adult hugged him fiercely. His curly brown hair grew, wild like him. He has more freckles than before, he thinks, as if he saw the sun and stayed under it for a month. One of them is definitely enjoying himself, he thinks childlishly, and in a fit of temper he manages to separate himself from Two’s long arms. He didn’t notice before but the other boy is wearing gloves; Emilio’s voice, almost forgotten but still here, warns him again about Two’s powers. 

“Wh—What are y—you do—doing here ?“ he asks when the silence streches between them painfully. Two, for once, loses his smile before it returns in full force.

“Well, I’m not working and you’re not working, so why not ? It’s been a while.“

“You ne—never _came_ before,“ he answers and his bitterness even surprises him. It’s irrationnal, he thinks, for Two never did anything to him but call him ‘brother’ and offering him peace and laugh. But he is done; _Eli_ is done, and if he has to be angry at someone it will never be Zero-One, strong and pitiless Zero-One, who would crush him beneath her shoes.

“ _Why_ are y—you he—here ?“ he asks again, his voice bordering on hysteric. 

Thankfully, Two seems to have gained cleverness, because he says quickly:

“I’m just paying you a visit, man. Don’t have anything better to do. Do you think I would go and willingly spend my free time with One ? I’m mad but I’m not _that_ mad.“

He doesn’t laugh.

“You s—saw me. Now g—get out.“

Whatever Two expected, it clearly wasn’t that; the teen visibly deflated. He can see him hesitating, maybe thinking ‘Between a kid who can make people see things and one who can shove you in a wall, it’s clear _who_ wins’. But people with special abilities all seem a bit crazy, or at least the ones he knows, so Two stands his ground and stays in the room. 

“Man, are you okay ? What happened to you ?“

_A lot of things_ , he wants to say, but he doesn’t. 

“No—Nothing.“

“Yeah, right,“ Two says with disbelief in his voice, and he snaps.

“Wha—What do you wa—want me to s— _say_ ? ‘L—Life is ni—nice’ ? ‘I’m so ha—happy’ ? Uh ?“

“The truth.“

Two crosses his arms on his chest and looks down on him; just like everybody, he is taller than him, not as tall as Mr Powell but it’s getting there. 

He wants the truth, he thinks bitterly. But they all know it. Saying it wouldn’t change anything. They all faced it, one day or another. He complains a lot but his treatment isn’t different from Zero-One’s or Two’s. They all trained under someone, they all work, or will work, for a person they don’t know, will never see their faces, and if they don’t do as they are told there will be punishment. Two seems to have accepted that fact, just like Zero-One (but he does wonder, was she reluctant in the first place ? Or did she embraced it immediatly ?). He is the only fool, he thinks, the only _fool_ who still has something to say, who still complains. It’s only a matter of time before he resigns himself.

“The t—truth,“ he echoes, “is ei—either te—terrible or—or bo—boring.“

“But it’s the truth nonetheless,“ Two states before taking him into an embrace that cuts his breath. Silently, Two mutters:

“One word, brother. Just tell me and I would take you away, take you with me. We could work together, I’m sure they would agree, and after that... After that we could go. We could see the world. We could get out of here.“

“ _Why_ ?“

“Because you’re my brother, even though I saw you one time. Because you’re family. Because this life, it’s not for you.“

When Two looks at him, there is no smile but just seriousness on his face.

“It will destroy you, one day.“

He thinks, _maybe I should go_. He thinks, _it would be better_. A life with Two. A life with a boy he learned to like despite the short amount of time they shared. For what he saw, he knows Two is a nice teenager, a gentle human being and clearly, between him and Zero-One, the choice is already made.

But when he is ready to answer, however, he thinks of Emilio, who told him _I will come back_. He promised, too, he told him he would come back _soon_. It could be tomorrow. It could be in one week. Or it could be in one year, but Emilio said he would come back and he trusts Emilio more than he trusts Two. What tells Two that they could work together ? What tells Two that they could _stay_ together ?

Because Two is a prisonner, just like him, reliant on the whims and the tantrums of the other; while Emilio is outside. Outside and free. Outside and free and he will come back.

 

In the end, he stays. Maybe he should have left when he had the chance.


	10. Six (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We have a job for you.“

“We have a job for you,“ Mr Powell says when he sees him one day. “It’s your first mission ever, son. But you’re ready.“

“As ready as you could ever be,“ Zero-One intervenes, absolutely disinterested.

“Whatever,“ Mr Powell frowns. “You’re ready.“

Mr Powell throws a blue folder at him with so many pages some of them escape it. Nobody picks them up, however, as he opens it silently and reads the first words. It also has a picture tucked on its first page; he looks at it.

It’s a girl, a redhead with long straight hair and green eyes that seem to pierce him. Her skin is pale, just like him. In her stare, he can read all the hatred she feels toward the person who took the photo.

He raises dibitatives eyes toward Zero-One and Mr Powell, who look at him as if he was an interesting and priceless work of art.

“A—And ?“ he asks when it’s clear they will not say anything else. “Wh—What am I suppo—supposed to d—do ?“

But he has the feeling he already knows the answer, and he isn’t wrong when Mr Powell replies :

“The girl is named Six. She managed to escape one week ago and nobody found her. She knows things; _important_ things. If she discloses them, we’re as good as dead.“

“And ?“ he prompts again. Internally, he sings _please don’t say it please don’t say it please—_

“You find her, you take care of her. Do as you want, kill her, retrieve and hand her to her handlers, I don’t care, but you have to make sure she doesn’t run in the wild any longer.“

After a quick glance toward the girl in the room, Mr Powell adds :

“Zero-One will go with you. Be discreet. I don’t want an explosion in New York.“

“Last time she was spotted, she was wandering in Washington,“ Zero-One chirps.

“ _Whatever_.“

With one final glare, Mr Powell gets out. For a moment, they don’t say anything. He lets his eyes wander on Six’s frowning face.

His first mission and he has to ‘take care’ of a girl like him, his sister if he applied Two’s logic. Zero-One doesn’t seem bothered by the prospect of killing anyone; then, he saw her leave and come back, sometimes, and he guesses she wasn’t playing dolls.

He really doesn’t know what to do. His mind tells him to let her alone in the country, to let her expose them all; but he can’t, for he knows it will end badly for him. If Zero-One accompanies him, it’s not because they think the mission will be difficult; it’s because they want to make sure he will not take the opportunity and flee. Or let poor Six alone, just as she deserves. His liberty will be artificial. His cage will just be larger.

If he can’t let Six live her life, the second solution is to capture her unharmed; but again, he doubts he will have the choice. If she escaped, she clearly doesn’t plan on coming back without any struggles. He doesn’t know what are her aptitudes, if she is an offensive type like Zero-One and him or a... strange type (?) like Two. Either way, she will put a fight and he will have to replicate.

He realises, suddenly, that he only has one option. He will have to end her. Otherwise, he will not succeed, and Zero-One will kill her for him before saying he can’t do it and hands him to their superiors, whoever they are. It’s his first mission; it’s also a test, one he can’t fail. 

Zero-One is the first to react. She takes a single glance at Six’ frowning face, then his, and says :

“I’m driving.“

 

—

 

“How are we supposed to find her, you might ask.“

He barely reacts; Zero-One has been babbling nonsense since they left the lab, commenting on everything they see on the road, and it can goes from the other cars to the weather. He wonders, not for the first time since the beginning of their cute little trip, if she has a mouth filter.

Probably not.

He prefers to look outside, seeing the landscape for the first time. He may be drooling a little, he is distantly aware, but all this novelty makes him nervous and curious at the same time. He definitely wants to see more, at any rate.

“Well, my dear Three,“ she continues without waiting an answer which will never come, “it’s easy. Not for _me_ , mind you, but for _you_.“ Then she snorts and adds : “For once, you know how to do something better than me. Congratulations.“

He doesn’t know where they are heading. Maybe Washington, since Six was last seen there, but the travel is so long he fears he will die before they reach the city. He never went to an another town. He doesn’t even know where he was before he came to live in the lab. The orphanage is a distant memory, almost lost and forgotten. He wouldn’t even be able to place it on a map.

“Are you even listening to me ?“ Zero-One asks, and she sounds offended so he answers quietly:

“Yes.“

“Ok, nice. So, you will have to find her.“

“H—How ?“

“Do the black place thing. The strange thing. Like Two.“

He looks at her, puzzled. She does the same. In front of them, a car honks, and they barely dodge it.

He _really_ doesn’t know if he will survive this travel.

“I— I don’t kn—know how.“

“Nonsense. You already did it.“

Yes, he did, but it didn’t end well. His right leg stopped throbbing him after a few days but he still remembers the pain that went through it, that paralyzed him and made him faint in the middle of a destroyed lab.

He also remembers the monster and just the memory of it is sufficient to scare him.

“Didn’t e—end w—well.“

The car stops so suddenly he feels his body go forward. He collapses violently on his seat and for a moment, he doesn’t dare to look at Zero-One.

“Look,“ she begins quietly, and he can hear the anger underneath her voice. “I don’t care if you can’t do it now, if you’re afraid, if you don’t want to do it. In the end, it’s _your_ mission. However.“

He suddenly can feel her breath on his neck, a sign that she is leaning towards him. He also feels very uncomfortable all of sudden; he makes sure that he doesn’t let his gaze wanders to his left but that he lets it resolutely on the road.

“ _However_ , I’m here to make sure you don’t let little, cute Six in the wild. _Intentionally_ let her walking around as if she is allowed to. And you know what happens if you do it ?“

His breath stutters in his throat. He imagines well enough. And Zero-One knows it.

“Yes, that’s right. I just have to snap my fingers —“ and while she says that she does it, about an inch from his nose. “And the next second, you two will be nothing but dust.“

She waits a few seconds for a reaction and, when she sees nothing, she nods for herself and finally starts the car.

“Let me tell you,“ Zero-One finishes in the silence of the cabin. “Dust is very hard to pick up.“

 

 

—

 

He does go back to the dark place but this time, fortunaly, he finds nobody but him. He looked at Six’ photo for so long, her image is engraved in his memory. He only thought of her when he closed his eyes in the silent motel room they rented, and he only thought of her when he opened them to a dark and silent place with nobody but him.

And the potential monster which _could_ lurk in the shadows around him.

The second thing he notices, after the monster’s absence, is the distant pain in his leg. A pain that has faded away in the world he lives, but that is now awake and pulsing. He doesn’t have his gown, is instead dressed in a jean and his beloved black polar fleece, so he can’t see his leg. When he pulls the leg of his pants up, however, he can discern what looks like black flesh where it should be white and pale.

“Three,“ Zero-One’s voice resonates around him, sounding impatient. “Move your ass, and move it quickly.“

Hurriedly, he lets his pants’ leg falls back and looks around him.

Think about Six. Just think about Six. Nothing else matters but Six.

He lets her face be formed in his mind. Her long, straight red hair, her green eyes, her frown, her freckles, everything. He even closes his eyes, allowing himself to imagine her in more detail. How she is younger than him but only because even if he doesn’t know his real age, he does know that he is more than ten. How she didn’t reach puberty, still with slightly chubby cheeks and soft skin. Her lips are chapped from chewing them because of stress. He imagines her standing in front of him, maybe reaching his shoulder, looking up at him while frowning in disdain. 

When he opens his eyes again, he sees her for real.

She is the only other humain being here and she doesn’t seem to realise that she isn’t alone anymore. Six’s clothes are torn here and there from whatever treatment she gave them, and there is a hole in one of her shoes. She is chewing slowly on something and when he looks closer, he can see what looks like the remaining of a sandwich between her tiny hands. She has dark circles under her eyes as well and the light in them is dulled; with her gaze on the floor, she looks like a kid who wants to sleep but who knows she can’t.

For a moment, he is tempted to speak to her, just for the experience. Would she hear him ? After all, Zero-One isn’t here. He could just say that he didn’t find Six and...

But Zero-One always reachs her goal, and lying will not help any of them. Besides, he is in the dark place already; Zero-One knows he is in and he is a very bad liar.

So he looks at Six carefully, notices everything, how she chews her food, how her eyes are hollow, and he knows where she is even if he doesn’t have any other indication. I will remember you, he thinks, and it sounds like a promise.

 

When he opens his eyes, the world is rotting.

“What the—“ he begins, standing up quickly, ready to strike, but he is alone.

He is alone and the world is silent. The bed is empty, no Zero-One on it, and the curtains are open. He has a look at the road, deserted too. 

“Ze—Zero-One ?“ he calls. 

Nobody answers.

The walls seem to be made of roots, roots which had grown everywhere, winning against concrete and stone. The light is deep blue, giving the atmosphere an eerie feeling. For a moment, he thinks his eyes are deceiving him but no, he believes that he sees snow, or at least white spots dancing in his vision.

When he tries to take a step, he nearly cries out in pain. He can feel his leg pulsing now, just like his heartbeat which is racing. This world is silent, too much silent, and his breaths come short and ragged with anticipation of something he doesn’t know. He feels himself as a prey, when the hunter is outside and waiting for him to make a mistake. He thinks of the monster in the dark place again and somehow he is aware that it is here, somewhere, and that it’s coming.

This world is silent but nonetheless, a voice rings around him, remote and faint, but he thinks he can made it out. He recognizes it, at least, or so he believes, but before he can answer he feels a sharp ache on his cheek, making him blink.

 

This time, when he opens his eyes, Zero-One is staring straight at him, her hand raised as if ready to strike him again. He blinks again, chasing the blood tears flowing on his cheeks, and frowns when she doesn’t move.

“What ?“ he asks, because she looks at him with an expression he can’t decipher, and it’s currently infuriating him greatly.

“Where were you ?“ Zero-One prefers to say, slowly lowering her hand with which she hit him. “You weren’t coming back. I could smell your fear from the bathroom.“

“I—“ he begins, then stops when he doesn’t find the words, because somehow he doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t know if his nightmares made this strange world a long time ago, he doesn’t know if he is imagining it, he doesn’t know if he is somehow losing his mind (but then, he thinks he had it coming).

“I—I was... lost,“ he finishes lamely, for it is the truth, but the truth is weird anyway.

“But you found Six ?“ Zero-One presses him when it’s clear he won’t add something else. “You know where she is ?“

“Yes. Y—Yes, I... I know.“

Zero-One stands up, overlooking him. She tosses something in his lap; when he looks at it, he isn’t surprised to find the car keys.

“You’re driving then, and be careful on the road.“

He gives the bed a last, regretful look, before following her.

 

—

 

“You’re crying blood, when you use your powers,“ Zero-One drawls in the car. “It’s funny. I don’t know anybody else who does that.“

Just like she ordered, he makes sure that he is careful and so, he doesn’t answer. Not that it deters Zero-One, who could speak with a wall if she wanted to.

“Does that mean that you can’t use them on things that aren’t in your visual field ?“

“I—I don’t kn—know,“ he answers while the answer is _yes_ , because they tried and it failed spectacularly

“Well, I think so.“

Zero-One looks smug. He just wants to drive silently, and so he does.

 

—

 

“Oh shit, is that a cop ?“

It indeed looks like a cop, about thirty meters from them, and he is waving at them to pull over the car. On his right, Zero-One begins to panic.

“Do you have a licence ?“

He gives Zero-One an eerie glance. What the heel is a ‘licence’, he thinks, and somehow he knows that she understands what his look means because she curses.

“Well, shit. Is it too late to switch places ?“

“ _Yes._ “

“Damn. Damn damn damn. Why isn’t there Eight with us, damn—“

He doesn’t know who is Eight and in all honesty, he would be overjoyed to get them arrested. But he can see Zero-One pondering besides him and he knows it’s just a matter of time before she sets an explosion, on the cop very likely. He sighs and looks intensely at the car coming the other way around. A thought later and it accelerates, way over the speed limit, enough that it catches the cop’s eyes. The time for the guy to start his own patrol car and chase it, they pass the obstacle unhindered.

He wipes the single drop of blood coming from his left eye and ignores the headache that he feels is coming.

“Well,“ Zero-One says after a moment. “At least you’re clever.“

It’s the closest thing from a compliment he ever received from her. He decides to take it.

 

—

 

“I mean, reasonably—“

“ _No._ “

“Nobody would know it was me !“

“Y—You’re s—su—such a k— _kid_. I—I am the o—one dr—driving.“

“Come on, as if the thought didn’t cross your mind. _Admit it_. It would be quicker this way.“

He resists the urge to hit her because he knows it won’t end well for him. But it’s a close thing.

Zero-One is _insufferable_ , and he weights his words. They finally reached Washington and are now stuck in a traffic jam. It’s been ten minutes or so, when Zero-One innocently suggested that she could _blow up a car_ to clear their passageway. At first, he sincerely thought it was a joke but her sense of humour being what it is and her saying what she has said with a perfectly straight face, well.

He quickly understood that she wasn’t joking, and it’s been a terrifying realization.

“No, I di—didn’t _th—think_ ab—about it and n—no, it wi—will not be _quicker_.“

Zero-One, the crazy girl, _pouts_.

This trip makes him realize that the woman he feared for half his life has the same level of patience of a five year-old todler. Somehow, it doesn’t make him feel better.

“Lo—Look,“ he states. “Th—Think about i—it. _If_ you bl—blow up a c—car, the po—police w—will come. And may—maybe the par-paramedics. Pl—plus the fire— the firefighters.“

Zero-One continues her sulking but she doesn’t argue. He waits a few seconds before concentrating once more on the obstructed road.

“N—No blo—blowing up,“ he concludes with all the authority he can muster. Besides him, Zero-One crosses her arms on her chest, but doesn’t make anything explode.

 

—

 

They park their car on the first available parking lot they find and decide to walk until they reach Six. He can feel Zero-One’s dubious glance but decides to ignore it. He is also a bit overwhelmed by Whashington DC.

It’s the first city he visits, in a way, and even if it’s not that big, he still looks at everything like a kid at Christmas. He knows they aren’t here for tourism and it’s a loss because he would really have liked to visit the town.

“Are you sure she is there ?“ Zero-One asks with the tone of someone who’s calling on your bullshit.

He nods because even if he can’t explain it, _yes_ , he knows where Six is. There is this little spot in his head which guides him, which tells him that they are on the right track. 

 

After a while, and way after the sun has set, he stops in front of a park’s entrance. Zero-One almost bumps into him and, after sending him a glare, finally faces the grass and the space in front of them. He can feel her frown and is not disappointed when she protests :

“Lincoln Park ? _Why_ would she be here ?“

“She i—is he—here,“ he affirms firmly, or as firmly as he can as he feels his fingers starting to shake. With anticipation or with fear, he doesn’t know.

“Well,“ Zero-One decides after a dubious silence, “what are we waiting for, then ?“

As she begins to take a step, however, he blocks her way with an oustretched arm. 

“It—it’s _my_ mi—mission,“ he says before she can start to argue. “ _Mine_.“

Zero-One seems to weight the pros and cons but finally gives up and nod. Her eyes, though, look at him warily, judging and reading him like an open book. She is doubting and who wouldn’t when knowing that they are currently chasing an escaped experiment ? After all, if one already left, another one could. And only him knows where Six is; he could deceive her perfectly, take his chance and leave. It’s almost tempting, if only for a while.

But he has no money, no identity papers, he doesn’t even know his _age_ and the country he lives in. What he would have is, what, a park ? Nobody can play hide and seek for all their live, and one day or another he would grow tired of this way of living.  
Zero-One never would, because when Zero-One receives an order, she executes it.

He can see her reaching the same conclusions. Zero-One relents grudgingly and nods her agreement.

“But,“ she warns, “if I don’t see you coming back with her or her body, I’m chasing you down, and I will have your head, you know I will.“

“I—I know,“ he mutters, and he finds it true.

He knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> season 3 destroyed me and I'm definitely not taking it into account for the upcoming works

**Author's Note:**

> Me : why is there so many conjugation times in english, let's write something while not understanding how it works yaaaaaay (ﾉﾟ▽ﾟ)ﾉ
> 
> Do I know how many chapters there will be ? No.  
> Do I have anything written ? Kkkkkkkk nO ( ・_・)ノ


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